Never Surrender
by mysterywriter94
Summary: "There is nothing worse than watching the one you love die so slowly right before your eyes. And yet refused to die."


_Do you know what it's like when_  
_You're scared to see yourself?_  
_Do you know what it's like when_  
_You wish you were someone else?_  
_Do you know what it's like_  
_To wanna surrender?_

_- Never Surrender by Skillet_

There is nothing worse than watching the one you love die so slowly right before your eyes. And yet refused to die. Such a painful, tear jerking contradiction that nobody knows how to deal with or even bother to speak of. We all knew that day was coming. She was beyond any help or explanation. Why did it have to be her, the poor, sweet thing? I never understood why the good and angelic ones had to die, especially like this. You couldn't possibly get it, you never had to deal with a horrible thing in your goddamn life, you bitch. She was killing herself and nobody could help. I was so heartbroken at the funeral, that words were beyond me. In fact, I don't think I've spoken a word since.

What was the use in smiling when she was gone? My light, my reason for living, now lay two years dead beneath the earth. Talking was definitely beyond me. It was a lot easier when nobody listened to a word you said anyways. When even the teachers forget to call your name in the daily roll, that's when you know you're invisible beyond description. I find it comforting in a way. There was nobody to answer to, and especially nobody to avoid half assed pity with. I didn't need their pity, I just needed them to fucking understand what I'm feeling. But no, she was a lesbian, so she was worthless to anyone who knew her. Except me. She was everything to me. And she's _dead_. How am I supposed to go on now that my best friend was gone? It was so unfair.

I had stopped trying in school, and no one took notice. Me, an honors student, getting Cs and Ds. I was lucky if I did my homework once a week, if at all. Everything I ever worked for was being flushed down the drain, and all because of one small event that had big, life changing consequences. I wish I could go back in time and prevent that one girl from tormenting my sister. She doesn't deserve to get off so easily. Why did I have to be the only one who cared? My own parents barely remembered she ever existed. There are only three places at the table now. Any pictures were long gone, devoured by the flames of our fire place.

They say time heals all wounds. I think time takes those wounds and rips open the stitches, over and over. The incessant throbbing and bleeding was more than I could stand. Just because the injurues were on my heart and not my skin, didn't make them any less real. In fact, I think they count for something a whole lot more than a simple cut or scrape or a broken bone.

One becomes bitter after holding in so much pain. The holidays are meaningless to me now. I watch painfully as a family cheefully decorates their Christmas tree. I shivered, nearly knee deep in snow. Not that I cared. This was routine for me now. It was slowly becoming a very familiar torture. Perhaps too familiar. Violent shivers made my whole thin frame shake. When was the last time that I had eaten? I lost count after the third day. How could I be so unnoticable that not a single soul could see that I was headed down a similar road to hers?

Maybe, hopefully, when I join her they will see me. I continued to watch the family. A mother, a father, a daughter and son. Picture perfect family. Why couldn't that have been ours? Tears rolled down my cheeks, which I furiously wiped away. I hadn't cried in months. Maybe seven or eight of them. Even alone, I refused to make a single sound. Before the Incident, people had to fight to get me to shut up. Now, I think the last time a person has bothered speaking to me was over two weeks ago.

I must not be worth the contact. I must not be worth anything at all. I pressed my hand to the window, shaking with temptation. The smell of their Christmas Eve meal was overwhelming. Mashed potatoes, fried chicken, turkey, gravy, green beans, macaroni salad, honey dew, meat loaf, jello, pudding...it all looked so delicious. My mouth watered as the family sat down to eat, laughing and talking. More than likely sharing memories of past holidays. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen something so happy, yet so depressing at the same time. I wanted to join them so badly. Would they let me in? Would they let me have some food, however bad it may be for me?

I decided to torment myself further by imagining all of this had happened. A lovely meal followed by the exchanging of gifts, and hot chocolate before bed. Dreaming of the possibility of Santa leaving gifts for the younger kids while secretly still believing in him myself. There was nothing I wanted more than to be loved in that way. The simple, little things others take for granted. A hug from a loving sister. A tease from an annoying brother. Knowing smiles from parents as cookies and milk are left out for the night. The obligation of reading 'Twas The Night Before Christmas multiple times before anyone is satisfied. Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite. It seems like I had been bitten far too many times for any possibilities of healing any time soon.

Now the family was suddenly somber. They were remembering something sad. No, someone had noticed me. The little boy asked his mother a question. She seemed to be thinking it over, sipping at a glass of red wine while the father gazed at me thoughtfully. The daughter was sad, staring at me with knowing eyes. Did she know of my sister's dreadful demise? Or of someone homeless and hopeless like me? Oh, sure, I still lived with my parents even as I was nearly old enough to be entering college. But it wasn't home. Just a house, really. A moment later, the front door opened, startling me.

"Hey," the father said kindly. "You seem hungry and cold, why don't you come in?" I hesitated. Was this all a trick or dream of some sort? I stared blankly at the man. Where did I know this face? Another lifetime, maybe? Then a name came to mind.

"Jeb?" I whispered, my voice scratchy and painful from having been on a silent vigil for so long.

"It's alright Max, you can come home now...to your real family. It's over." The cover story? Being under cover?

"No," I said firmly after clearing my throat. "It'll never be over. Nudge is gone."

"Nudge?" Jeb frowned. "Max, who's Nudge?"

_Oh my fucking God._

My eyes flew open. I found myself in a familiar cage. In a familiar School. Alone. The others in another room, presumebly in a worse condition than mine. There was blood on my hands. Not mine. I couldn't remember. I could only remember the dream...but was it a dream?


End file.
